Granted Wishes
by Alias III
Summary: At nine years old, the Boy Who Lived goes missing. That's almost as sensational as Sirius Black's release from Azkaban.
1. Prologue

A/N: This story is unbeta'd because it's not a very serious project of mine. I was basically mauled by a plot bunny while trying to write two essays for a lit. class, and then again while trying to write three more essays in German. Luckily, I escaped with my life because the bunny wanted me to do its bidding. We'll see if my grades will be as fortunate. Anyway, concrit is always good, but keep in mind that I'm not taking this very seriously. I kinda' jacked a few people's plots, stuck 'em in a blender, and then wrote this. As much as that is the case, I do think that it'll make for an interesting read because I've tried to avoid as many cliches as possible and make things realistic. Well, give it a chance, at least, if you've gone so far as to click the link, and ignore my blathering.

**Prologue**

On the morning of May thirteenth, wizarding Britain woke to the most shocking _Daily Prophet_ headline since November first, some eight and a half years prior. In fact, nearly two thirds of the work force were nearly late because they and their spouses had stopped to read the article instead of putting the tea on or showering. When employers and employees congregated, the morning's _Prophet_ entered into nearly every conversation, overshadowing even the previous week's alarming revelation, which had been the disappearance of The Boy Who Lived. Store clerks swapped rumors with customers, nodding and agreeing that it was all "very dodgy, yes, very dodgy indeed." Reporters, photographers, secretaries, and interns at the _Daily Prophet_ office scurried through hazes of parchment and owl feathers, desperate for an evening edition that could match the morning's.

But what could possibly out-dazzle the block letters proclaiming, SIRIUS BLACK RELEASED! Or even the subheading, "bizarre twist proves Black innocent, framed by childhood friend back from dead." It read like a _Quibbler_ headline, and the story got even stranger, with illegal Animagi, severed fingers, secret Secret Keepers, pet rats turning into Death Eaters, and an innocent man in Azkaban for life. Witches and wizards young and old bypassed Flourish and Blotts for the fantastic tales on the newstands, for the photographs of the skeletal figure in prison robes shielding his eyes for the camera flashes and onslaught of voices and people and activity, of Fudge signing the release, of healers marveling at an inmate still sane after eight and a half years.

Boy Who Lived Still Missing.

That was the only headline Remus read before passing the paper to the eager, clawlike grasp of his houseguest. Four days had done little to remove the haunted stare from the pale eyes scanning the front page, or to add life to the waxy, sunken cheeks. Cut, clean hair, new robes hanging from his frame, atrophied muscles that still shook after too many stairs. Sirius bolted his sausauge and eggs with the grace of a half-starved mutt as he read.

"They've had so many Aurors dealing with me and Peter, who's looking for Harry?" Sirius demanded, yoke dribbling down his chin.

"They're looking. Dumbledore's looking. Everyone from the Order is looking. Half the wizarding world is looking." Remus hoped he sounded comforting. He sipped his tea, not having had much appetite in the last week.

"Peter was looking," Sirius growled back. "You can bet Malfoy will be looking, MacNair, Goyle, Bulstrode, Nott, Snape."

"Snape is on our side."

Sirius spared a sharp glare for that remark.

"He's fine," Remus said. "He's still got his aunt's protection, Lily's protection. They'll find him, and he'll be fine." These words were in danger of becoming a mantra.

"Are you going to just sit here and wait, then?"

Remus opened his mouth to tell Sirius to rest and recover before realizing how stupid it sounded. Healers, Aurors, politicians, and Headmasters had managed to put him off the last few days, but this morning had seen a far more anxious Padfoot. So he said, "Do you want to try Little Whinging, or go straight into London?"

Sirius looked up at him, eyes wide with surprise for a moment, but then he tossed the paper aside, onto the scuffed and polished floor. "I thought you were meant to keep an eye on me? Keep the nutter safe inside? Isn't that why the Ministry is taking so long to 'find' my wand?"

"How long do you plan on playing the loveable stray while your godson is god only knows where? The least I can do is keep you on a lead."

"A lead, Moony? Sorry, mate, I wasn't in prison _that_ long."

Remus only rolled his eyes and sipped more tea. "We'll start by questioning his aunt and uncle ourselves, then?"


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: This is probably the quickest update I've ever managed. I'll put up chapter two next week, but I'll be in Salem for The Witching Hour for most of the week, so we'll see how quick I am about chapter three, especially w/ a ten-page paper due this Monday and two tests right after I get back. Ugh.

And ty for the kind reviews I've gotten

**Chapter 1**

The night of May the twentieth brought with it a full or a nearly full moon. Harry noticed this because he could see more, and also because he had a greater chance of being seen. He crept down a back alley, looking for somewhere to sleep. He'd had a dry enough space under some stairs leading to a warehouse cellar the last three nights, but the men in long, black coats, the ones who seeped from the shadows, who appeared from thin air and disappeared again like ghosts, had started crawling around there, searching for him. They wanted to lock him away, he knew. Uncle Vernon had always promised that freaks got locked away, that useless boys always ended up in bad ways. And now Uncle Vernon was….

Harry shuddered and turned down a deserted street. He'd ridden the Underground for hours earlier, sleeping during the evening rush hour, when no one would pay much attention to one small boy curled up in a corner seat. He had no idea where he'd ended up, only that it was nowhere near where he'd been. He's spent another couple of hours wandering on foot as inconspicuously as possible. He was learning to identify the sort of people to avoid and the places he'd likely be safe and hidden for a few hours of sleep. Two weeks, and he still had nearly half the money he'd stolen from his uncle's wallet after he…when he ran away. He'd learned how to beg a few pounds here and there without attracting much notice, enough to buy some crisps and a hamburger, and last time he'd bought one chocolate bar, he'd walked out with three others, but shop owners were starting to look at him suspiciously, with his unwashed hair and grimy, oversized clothes.

The scent of something hot and tangy caught his attention, and he'd turned toward it before he even knew it. Hunger had gnawed at him more and more since he'd started spending most of his time running from the people in the black coats. That was a little more than a week, he realized.

Harry found himself behind a small Chinese restaurant. He could go in and buy something, but he didn't know when he'd get his hands on more money. His story about needing money for the Underground usually got him a few sympathetic donations, but he'd found that he couldn't beg off more than a few people before someone started getting suspicious. He wouldn't let them catch him, either the police or the others. They would both lock him up for what he'd done. He'd wind up in prison before he was even ten, and they wouldn't let him out till he was an old man.

He edged toward the restaurant's open back door, wary of the light but drawn by the smell of a hot meal. Maybe he could at least get a couple of fortune cookies or something. He gave the giant garbage dumpster a dubious look, but decided he wasn't half that desperate. But he could just take a look in the door, see if there was anything—

A set of snarling, snapping jaws leapt at him, and he screamed, scrambling backward from the big, hairy dog chained to the wall. A short man in a white apron appeared in the doorway, but Harry didn't stay around to listen to his half-English cursing and shouting.

Harry ran until his chest and throat burned and his legs felt stiff and heavy. He was in a commercial district, avoiding the eyes of a shabbily dressed man with a bottle in one hand.

"Hey, kid."

He walked faster, blinking because his vision was starting to go blurry; his eyes felt hot. Behind an old brick building, Harry found a small alcove he could crawl into. He curled in on himself, resting his back against the cold brick. It smelled like garbage. He missed the dusty smell of his cupboard and the soft warmth of his lumpy mattress. He missed the feeling that no one could ever find him if he didn't want them to. He pulled off his glasses to wipe his eyes and nose.

He scrambled to put them back on when he heard a soft wine. He gasped, staring at the dark, hulking shape, but he had nowhere to go. At first he thought the black coats had found him, and then he thought the dog from the Chinese restaurant had followed him all the way here to eat him. It was neither.

The dog was huge but thin. It had floppy ears and a long, snuffling snout. It didn't growl or bark or anything, just sort of sniffed forward.

Harry jerked back when the cold, wet nose touched his hand, striking his head on the wall, but the dog didn't do anything mean. It…it seemed nice enough, friendly.

Swallowing hard, Harry lifted one hand to pat the enormous head and got a soft _whuff_ in response. The dog pushed into Harry's touch, pressing himself into the tiny alcove and filling it with furry and warm.

Feeling bolder, Harry used his other hand to scratch behind the dog's ears, then to scratch its neck and shoulders. The dog _whuffed_ again and, with a sudden lurch, licked Harry's face. The boy grimaced and laughed at the same time.

But he froze when he heard footsteps in the alley. His fingers tensed in the dog's thick fur. The footsteps were uneven. After a minute, they passed by and turned a corner. Harry let out a breath and went back to stroking the dog's head.

"I dunno if you want to stick around," he told it. "I've got people after me. Cops and men in black coats."

The dog whined softly.

"They want to put me in prison because I…I…" Harry shuddered.

The dog nuzzled his cheek.

Harry leaned over to wrap his arms around its neck because it was the first thing to have been nice to him in more than two weeks. His vision blurred again, but it didn't matter very much because everything was dark dog hair.

"I didn't want to hurt anyone," Harry whispered. "I didn't mean to be a freak."

Neither boy nor dog moved for a long time, and eventually Harry fell into the deepest, securest sleep in recent memory.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Hello from TWH! People are checking in in the other room. I'm a Slyth :( But, will indeed take pics, Mud.

And don't worry, all will be explained, in time (patience, Mud). For once, I do have some idea where this is all going, at least for the next few chapters. I hope that my backstory doesn't bore or disappoint, as it's not terribly exciting. But thank you for all of the nice reviews. I did quite like getting a bit of concrit. I realized that I lied in the prologue A/N; this story isn't necessarily as realistic as possible, only a fair sight more realistic than some of the others than I've read. Or so I'd like to think. I'm also quite sure that I've got a few holes here and there, but maybe I can sing and dance enough that they won't be too noticeable

_Hello, my honey, hello my darlin', hello my clementine…_

**Chap. 2**

Harry woke someplace warm and soft. He flexed his fingers and found them curled into thick hair. He smiled and shifted closer to the dog, moving one arm just enough to pull the blankets back up. His hand paused, and his eyes opened. He wasn't in any back alley at all.

He sat up, trying to make sense of the dim, blurry room. It smelled dusty, like his cupboard, but it was much bigger, with a window on each side and vague shapes of furniture that he couldn't discern.

He did notice that he was no longer wearing his own clothes, but instead a baggy set of striped pajamas, and it looked like someone had given him a bath while he was asleep. Even his fingernails were clean.

The dog lying next to him lifted its head to stare at him. It had floppy ears and black fur. Only now, Harry could see its pale, intense eyes.

The dog turned its head away, shifting its weight, before looking at Harry again, this time with a pair of black-rimmed glasses hanging from its mouth.

"Thanks."

Harry hadn't got the glasses to his nose before squinting at them, confused. The tape on the nosepiece was gone, but they stayed together, and the left lense no longer had a crack down the middle. He put them on and blinked around the room; they had to be his. A bookshelf and wardrobe came into focus. He must have been at the top of a house because the ceiling slanted to a peek. The far end of the long room had a stack of dusty boxes and trunks.

"What…?"

Harry found a slightly slobbery letter dropped in his lap. It had his name on it. His trembling fingers opened the paper, and he read.

_Harry,_

_You're safe here. The cops won't find you, and the men in black coats can't catch you here. No one's going to take you to prison. _

_You won't remember me, but I knew you when you were a baby. I knew your parents. I've been away since they died. A lot of people thought I did something that I didn't do. But I'm out now, and I want to help you. _

_Nobody probably told you, but I'm your godfather. _

_Go downstairs, and Remus (he knew your parents, too) will make you breakfast. I'll be back soon to introduce myself properly._

_Yours,_

_Sirius_

"Sirius," Harry murmured. "That's a weird name." He looked at the dog. "Are you this Sirius person's?"

The dog barked and jumped off the bed. It stood by an opening in the floor, where Harry could see a steep set of wooden stairs, and stared expectantly.

Harry read the letter again. Safe? No cops or men in black coats? Should he believe that?

His stomach rumbled, and that settled it. He stood and followed the dog downstairs and into a sitting room unlike any he'd ever seen before. It was small and cramped. The furniture didn't match, and everything looked worn to exhaustion, with frayed cushions and scratched wood. Tall bookshelves took up one wall, and a fireplace took up the opposite. The windows were small and high, and the weak sunlight made the room feel smaller.

For all of that, though, the room was very clean. Holes in the couch had been mended, and the coffee table had nothing besides a couple of candles and one open book lying on it. The bookshelf suffered no dust, and the wood floor around the single rug looked recently swept.

"Harry?"

Harry turned and found a man wearing a strange sort of trenchcoat-bathrobe thing standing in the doorway to a narrow hall. He had light brown hair and tired eyes, but also the kindest smile Harry could remember.

"Are you Reh-mus?"

"Yes, I'm Remus. Are you hungry?"

Harry nodded, fidgetting with the letter.

"Come into the kitchen while I fix breakfast, and you can ask all the questions you want. Deal?"

All the questions he wanted? Harry nodded and followed Remus and the dog through the hall and into a small and tidy kitchen. Remus went to the refrigerator while Harry sat at the table, the dog lying by his chair.

"What's your dog's name?"

"Oh, he's not mine. He's just…a stray that comes around sometimes. His name is Padfoot."

"Padfoot," Harry said, the word tasting familiar in a formless way that evaporated the moment he thought on it.

"How do you like your eggs?"

"Scrambled. You knew my parents."

"With cheese?"

Harry nodded.

"Yes, I knew your parents. I went to school with them. Your father was one of the best friends that I ever had. So was your mother."

Someone who _liked_ his parents? Harry felt his stomach flutter. "Do I look like them?"

Remus turned from the bowl into which he was cracking an egg. "Hasn't your aunt shown you any pictures?"

Harry shook his head. Padfoot growled.

"You look just like your father, it's amazing. But your eyes are your mother's. I'll show you, after breakfast."

"What were they like?"

"They were…they were both uncommonly kind, but fierce, too. They loved you, you know. More than anything in the world." He dropped a handful of sausauge into the hot frying pan.

Padfoot lifted his head and barked.

"If you're hungry, you can go outside and catch rabits, or come over here and fix something yourself," Remus answered.

The dog whined and laid his head on his paws again.

Harry reached down to pet his back. "What about…Sirius?"

"Sirius had to go out for the morning, but he should be back any time now."

"What's he like?"

Remus didn't answer immediately, slicing bread. Boy and dog watched and waited for a response. Then, Remus turned around.

"Sirius can't wait to meet you again. It crushed him, knowing that you had to go and live with your aunt and uncle. He was supposed to take care of you, if anything happened to your parents, and he wanted to. He would have. But you have to understand, he's been in prison for more than nine years."

Padfoot whined; Remus ignored him.

"If you hadn't run away, he might never have been released. You'll have to give him some time. He loves you like you were his own son, and he'll do anything at all for you, if you ask him. But you'll have to be patient with him. He's very intense, and I daresay he remembers a lot more about you than you remember about him."

"He said the police wouldn't find me here. I don't want to go to prison."

"No one's going to take you to prison, Harry." Remus rolled the sausauges over and flipped the eggs. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"But I…I killed Uncle Vernon." It came out a whisper, but Padfoot's head came up and Remus turned a surprised stare on him. Remus pulled the pan from the flame before coming to sit in the chair beside Harry. Padfoot growled at him.

"Is that why you ran away?" Remus shook his head. "Harry, you didn't do anything of the sort. Your uncle is fine. I talked to him myself, just last week. A few bruises is all, and those're long gone."

Harry shook his head, trying not to cry in front of the adult. "But he fell over and…and he went all stiff, and they said on TV that people go stiff when they die and…"

Padfoot sat up and nuzzled Harry's cheek. Harry wrapped his arm around the furry neck again.

"And then the men in the black coats were chasing me, so I must have done something awful. Uncle Vernon always said that people like me ended up in bad ways."

Remus shook his head again, eyes wide. "Those men in black, thank God you didn't get caught by them. Those were Death Eaters."

Harry stared at Remus, but said nothing.

"Voldemort's followers."

"What's Voledmort?"

Remus exchanged a look with the dog before answering, "Voldemort is the person who killed your parents."

"My parents died in a car crash."

Harry nearly toppled over because Padfoot stood so suddenly and snarled at Remus, who didn't react, just sort of blinked.

Before Harry could try to apologize or do anything to make things right, Padfoot had darted from the kitchen. Half a moment later, the front door opened and closed, and then a tall man wearing a trenchcoat/bathrobe thing like Remus's stode in. He had long, black hair and a pale, gaunt face.


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm sorry about the delay. I actually had chapter 3 and most of 4 written last week, but then it occurred to me that chapter 3 really sucked (was very boring, more talking, more backstory we all know already, anyway). Between The Witching Hour (very cool, do have pics, Mud, have to put them on the comp still) and midterms (a word to the wise: if you want to spend unhealthy periods of time writing/reading fic, don't double major), I never got to do the rewrite. I'm not even too sure how this turned out, since I finished it about two minutes ago. I jacked a scene from another fic of mine that never got finished. I'm not sure that everything is as it should be, or if I should even go down this particular path, but I promise that it's far more interesting than the original chap. 3.

As always, reviews are nice, and concrit is even nicer.

**Chap. 3**

"Harry," the tall man said from where he stood, frozen, in the doorway.

The two stared at each other for several moments, and Harry was terrified and enraptured by the haunted gaze in the man's pale eyes.

"Harry," Remus said into the silence, "this is Sirius. Your godfather."

"Oh." Harry cast about for something more to add and came up with, "I've never had a godfather before."

"You did, once," Sirius said, edging forward. "You would have done properly, but I was…away."

"In prison?"

"Yes, that's right. For things I didn't do."

"Where's Padfoot?"

Sirius frowned slightly, but then his expression cleared, and he said, "He ran outside when I came in."

"Oh."

Sirius lowered himself to kneel beside Harry, unblinking. He lifted one hand, the long fingers trembling, and after a moment's hesitation, laid it gently on Harry's shoulder. Harry tensed, but didn't pull away.

"You look just like James," Sirius said. "He was my best mate, like a brother to me. He told me to…to take care of you, if he couldn't, if Lily couldn't. You have her eyes, you know." Sirius swallowed, his adams apple bulging from his thin neck. His fingers clenched, and Harry squirmed; Sirius let go, running the hand through his hair before dropping it to rest on one knee. "The night they died…I saw the house, nothing left. And James—"

"Here you are, Harry," Remus said, startling the boy. Remus laid the plate on the table before setting a hand on Sirius's shoulder.

Harry lost his curiosity to a piece of sausauge, oblivious to the burning in his oily fingers. He'd eaten everything except half a piece of toast by the time he started to feel his stomach expand, when it occurred to him that he was thirsty and took a great gulp from the glass by his plate. The juice tasted strange, spiced with cinammon, maybe, but good, so he downed it before finishing his toast and leaning back in his chair. He found that Sirius had moved into a chair and acquired a cup of tea, which he considered with great interest.

So this was a godfather, Harry thought, not really understanding. The concept was simple, without doubt, but a godfather for _Harry_? It all seemed a bit dodgy. Maybe they never knew his parents at all, and it was all just a story, like that program he'd seen Aunt Petunia watching once on the telly, where the girl got conned into thinking the man had cancer or something. Except he hadn't told them his parents' names, or even his. But maybe they just wanted the money he'd stolen from Uncle Vernon.

On considering that, Harry looked down at his pajamas, panic rising.

"My clothes—"

"They're hanging dry," Remus said from the sink.

"I don't see why you bothered," Sirius growled. "He won't need them again. I'll see to that."

"They'll be returned to Mr. and Mrs. Dursley," Remus answered, "along with all of the money."

"If you think I'm going to repay the bloody Muggle who told my godson that Lily and James Potter died in a fucking _car crash_, you—"

"Assume that you've got more decency than they have."

"Don't throw that at me. I'll hate whoever I want to hate."

Remus didn't answer.

"What else did they tell you about your parents?" Sirius asked.

Harry shrugged, his mind still on the money. "Not much."

"Of course not. And they'll not have mentioned Hogwarts, either."

Harry shook his head. All this talk about his aunt and uncle put him on edge. They'd make hime go back, wouldn't they? While he sat in that warm kitchen, full with the first hot meal in two days, out of the steady rain that had started to thrum on the roof, with these men telling him his uncle was just fine. Going back should be all right. Hadn't he missed his cupboard so desperately just last night? He didn't have to _like_ the Dursleys to appreciate Aunt Petunia's cooking and his dry cot.

But he wanted the money back in his own pocket, not to spend on chocolates and computer games, but for the security of it. Because he thought he should have been happier about going back to the Durselys' and grateful that his time out on his own, with no one to turn to and nowhere to go and nothing to eat, was over and done with. He wanted to be content with Privet Drive and his clothes. He wasn't. Somehow, in this dim, cozy kitchen, dark London alleyways failed to frighten him in the same way that they had just the night before.

And everything hinged on the security of that firm wad of notes.

An odd humming caught his attention. It emmanated from the counter only a couple of meters away. Sirius stopped talking to look, too, as the humming escalated into a fierce rattling. All three watching a small, battered tin vibrate across the workspace of its own accord before toppling over the edge. It hit the floor, the top flying off. And there, almost within arm's reach, lay the pound notes, now folded neatly.

Harry felt the two adults looking at him, but he jumped from his chair to swipe up the money.

"Harry—" Sirius started.

But panic set into Harry's brain then. They wouldn't let him keep it. He'd just shown both of them that he was a freak. And he had no chance against two fully grown men.

So he ran.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: A bit of a longer chapter than the last one. This one was fun to write. Think the next two will be, too. Actually, after chapter 6, I'm not quite sure how I'm going to proceed and still keep things intresting. I can probably get away with maybe two duller chapters with some gratuitous Harry-Sirius and Harry-Remus bonding. So that's four more chapters. After that, I'm not sure if I'll introduce a plot (have a couple possibilities in mind) or just end it. We shall see.

Anyway, to answer you, Mud, it's not a matter of not telling Harry about magic. It's just that Sirius _assumes_ that Harry knows about magic. To Sirius, who's come from a pureblood family, air, gravity, the sun rising tomorrow, magic, it's all the same. He recognizes that that's not the case for Muggles, but Harry isn't a Muggle. Also, it's implied in PoA that Sirius doesn't know how much Harry hates the Dursleys, so I'm figuring that, for the reasons previously noted, it doesn't occur to him that they _could_ have told him magic doesn't exist, much less that they _would_. Remus figures it out slightly before Sirius, mostly because he's a halfblood, and therefore understands that magic doesn't _have_ to be there, even for a wizard. That's not to say that Sirius is particularly slow on the uptake, but it is definitely more of a shock to him.

As to the swearing, Strega, I think I might have to up the rating solely because of Sirius's dialogue. I realized I'd probably have to with the original version of chap. 3. I don't think Sirius, either before Azkaban or after, would have any real inhibitions about his language. I realize that Rowling keeps it pretty PG, but I have a lot of trouble writing Sirius with nothing stronger than a "damn" or "hell," whether in front of children or not. I don't see him as being someone who's offended by language or thinks that everything needs to be censored where minors are concerned. As to Remus…you make a good point, and I've been debating his reaction for some time. I think, though, that he'd realize there's no point in admonishing Sirius when he's really pissed off. I expect he'd say something about it later, when Sirius is in a mood to listen.

:does her best Michigan J. Frog, tophat and can and all: _Hello my honey, hello my darlin'…_

And thank you to everyone else who reviewed and will review. I'm aiming for 8 reviews for this chapter. Think I can make it?

And concrit is always lovely.

**Chap. 4**

If Harry had the powers of contemplation as the front door slammed behind him, he would have reflected on the fact that running was an abysmally stupid thing to do.

As it was, he hardly noticed the woods or the rain or the rocky ground beneath his bare feet. He clutched the pound notes in both hands, fueled by the shouts and pounding of shoe soles behind him. With instincts honed after years of evading Dudley, Harry dodged left just as one of the adults—it didn't matter which—made a grab from him. He left the narrow footpath he'd been following and wove through the trees. Branches snagged at the thin and baggy pajamas, but he paid them no mind.

Only when he fell over a stone and found himself unable to get back up did he really feel the pain in his feet. He'd registered an ache, but as he lay in the mud, the stinging and throbbing made standing impossible. In fact, it made his throat close up and his eyes tear with the intensity.

The two men descended then, both kneeling and speaking, but neither touching him for the first moment. Harry held the money to his chest, curled around it, and shivered under the thick drops of rain shed by the trees above.

"Harry?" Sirius asked, his voice hoarse, panicked. "Are you all right?"

Harry thought that this was a very strange question, all things considered. He flinched when a hand touched his arm.

"It's all right," Sirius continued. "I mean, whatever it is, it's all right. Look, the money doesn't matter. You can keep it. And more. As much as you want; I've got loads. The money's not important."

Harry didn't relax; the money was the most important thing in the world in that moment. It gave him an autonomy he'd never had before. And he didn't believe Sirius.

"Harry," Remus said, sounding so much calmer. "If we give you our word that we won't take the money again, will you come back up to the house? You can't stay out in the rain with your feet in shreds. We'll take you inside, get you dry and clean and take care of your feet. A potion or two, a couple of quick spells, you'll be as good as new. We won't touch the money again. Will you come?"

Harry shook his head.

Sirius murmured something about levitation, and Remus replied that that was something Sirius's parents would do. Sirius said that this was completely different, but then a very long silence followed.

Harry wondered if he could make a break for it again, but one slight twitch of his left foot told him not to even try.

"Harry, I'm going to pick you up now," Sirius said. "And I'm going to take you up to the cottage. Keep a tight hold of that money; don't drop it."

Long, bony arms scooped up the nine-year-old, who didn't offer much resistance. Standing was jerky, and the first few steps wobbled, but Sirius picked up momentum. It only took a minute or so to get back to the house; Harry had only run fifty or sixty meters down the hill, but Sirius's arms had started to shake badly by the time they stepped inside.

Harry found himself set in a wingback chair. He got a look at Sirius's face for the first time since he'd run; his gray eyes were wide, scanning over Harry, his fingers checking the tears in the pajamas for blood.

"Moony's gone to get his potions. We'll have you patched up in no time."

Harry just held to his wad of bills and watched dirty blood drip from his heels, thinking that "potions" was a strange thing to call peroxide.

Remus came in a moment later, carrying two strange-looking glass bottles, one green and one a dark red, a bowl, and a couple of white cloths. Sirius moved out of his way so he could kneel by Harry's feet, where he poured the contents of the green bottle into the bowl. The liquid, a creamy offwhite, swirled and steamed, but Harry felt not heat from it as Remus guided his feet down with a surprising gentleness. Aunt Petunia had never been rough with his skinned knees when he was littler, but she'd been mechanical about swabbing the torn skin and applying the bandages, not at all like the cooing and kissing that she'd bestowed on Dudley. Not that Remus cooed or kissed. He just treated Harry's wounds with an unfamiliar care, every touch as soft and slow as he could manage.

"This might sting a little, but the potion will ease the pain and stop the bleeding," Remus said.

Sirius stood to pace.

"Are you cold?" Remus asked Harry.

Before Harry could answer, Sirius had knelt to stoke the fire, adding kindling and blowing on the orange embers.

The liquid in the bowl touched Harry's feet, and it felt much colder than he would have thought. He shivered. But a moment later, the soles of his feet began to feel warm and tingly. The steady ache receded. He realized for the first time that he'd clenched his jaw and relaxed it.

Remus pulled his feet up from the now-pink liquid and gently dabbed them clean with one of the cloths. It still stung, but not too badly, and the concerned glances Sirius thre over his shoulder every other moment distracted the boy.

"Now, this potion closes the wounds," Remus said, picking up a clean cloth and wetting it with the pale green liquid from the red bottle. He took hold of Harry's left ankle, but paused before doing anything. "This part is going to hurt more. Are you ready?"

Harry nodded. But he winced when the cloth irritated his sole. His fingers clenched around the pound notes, but they were small and unyielding. It occurred to him that they weren't very useful at all in that cottage, and maybe that was why they'd let him keep them—for now. As Remus touched a particularly tender spot in the arch of the foot, Harry tried not to gasp aloud. He remembered Sirius saying something about having loads of money, but one glance around the living room implied something completely different.

"Hey, Harry?" Sirius said rather suddenly. "I bet your aunt didn't tell you about the first time your mum agreed to go out on a date with your dad."

Harry had hardly shaken his head once before Sirius launched into a wild tale, the sort Uncle Vernon would have shouted about and Aunt Petunia would have sniffed at, about his parents and some sort of castle and a giant squid and something about flying broomsticks and something called a Beak Binding Curse, that apparently his mum threw about liberally, and usually at his dad. Sirius threw himself about the living room behind Remus, doing voices waving his long limbs in reenactments of different events. Harry had never seen a grown-up act like that. Well, maybe on TV, but only on those noisy programs Uncle Vernon harumphed before changing the channel with extra conviction. But this was one of the funniest things Harry had ever seen, even though he didn't have much idea at all what Sirius was talking about. He wondered briefly why his aunt and uncle hated make-believe stories so much; this one was so much fun.

By the time Harry thought to look at his feet again, after Sirius had run out of breath and flopped into another chair, Remus was nearly finished with the right one.

Harry frowned when Remus pulled out a long, narrow stick. Was he going to rap his feet as punishment?

He tried to pull his feet, up, but Remus held fast.

"This part won't hurt at all, and then I'll be done. Just a few more minutes."

Harry found his wad of money, having set it down in his lap sometime during Sirius's story, and clutched it tight; he didn't feel very fortified.

Remus gestured with the stick and muttered something in another language, and Harry felt his eyes go wide as the half-healed cuts and scraps on his foot shrank up into pale, pink lines of newly formed skin.

He looked up at Remus, and asked before he could stop himself, "How'd you do that?"

Remus gave him an odd look, but obliged, saying, "It's an easy enough spell, OWL level magic."

"But…there's no such thing as magic?" Harry asked, feeling quite unsure of the fact.

The question had hardly left his mouth when Sirius leapt to his feet, very suddenly full of furious energy. "_WHAT_?"


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: I know, I know, I'm a week late. But I had two giant projects due this week, one a 10-15 pg. short story rewrite for my fiction workshop (300 level for my major, so not a fun passtime sort of workshop) due on Monday and a 10-15 minute oral report to be given in German (my other major, ugh. Why can't I just be sane and rational about my educational goals?) due on Tuesday, so I seriously had no time at all. Luckily, I was saved from missing the one-week-late mark by a fit of insomnia (work in nine hours? Hm…not good).

Mud, consider yourself duly slapped But since schoolwork prevents my updates, I guess I can't say much.

To everyone who reviewed this chapter, I'm glad that you're enjoying the story. It may turn out to be a bit longer than I originally thought, given that this chapter somehow expanded itself beyond my expectations. And to the under-appreciated readers who enjoy the story but don't review (I'd be irritated by it, but then I'd be a complete hypocrite), thanks for your silent patronage!

Oh, and Moni, Harry's nine in this story. I don't intend to let this story span more than a few months, at most, and that's only if I introduce an actual plot.

As always, questions and criticisms welcome.

Oh, and one last thing to make this A/N unbearably long; I did up the rating because of Sirius's dialogue. Please be warned that I do not characterize him in a PG manner. I did try to keep the cussing down to a minimum, but it's still very much there. I do think that Remus will say something about it, but at a less intense and convoluted point in time. Ok. Now read the fic.

**Chap. 5**

Harry tried to back away from his raging godfather, but he had nowhere to go without getting up from the chair, and he still had a wounded one-and-a-half feet.

Remus stood and turned. "Sirius—"

"Don't you fucking _dare_ to tell me to calm down, Remus." Sirius returned his attention to Harry, his gray eyes burning with a rage the boy had never seen, even in Uncle Vernon. "Is that what they told you? Is that what those fucking cu—"

"There are more important things at the moment."

Harry felt nothing but relief when Sirius's attention focused on Remus instead. The boy looked for a way to escape. His last attempt had been a complete failure. Maybe if he could get up the stairs behind the adults and latch the door closed? And then what? Harry decided that he'd figure that out when he got there and tried to slip, unnoticed, over the arm of the chair, but he couldn't stand. He found himself kneeling on the cold, wood floor, his left foot aching and his right marginally less tender. He looked around frantically for a plan B; nothing came to mind.

"More important things?" Sirius demanded, meanwhile. "What in Fuck's name is—"

Harry paused in his attempts to move somewhere, anywhere, when both adults fell completely silent. He looked up at them from over the arm of the chair. Remus was pointing down at him, while Sirius stared, wide-eyed, as though he'd never seen a nine-year-old boy before.

"Harry—"

Harry pulled back when Sirius started to move around the chair. Sirius stopped, the little color that had gathered in his hollow cheeks draining away.

"Harry?" The name came out as a croaky murmur.

Remus laid a hand on Sirius's shoulder. "Go sit down, Padfoot. I'll—"

Sirius shook his head, then shrugged off the hand. "No. I'll take care of this. He's my godson."

Remus looked uncertain, but then he gave a slight nod. Harry thought it all looked horribly ominous and backed further into the corner. He held a staring contest with Sirius for several long moments, a vast array of emotions Harry couldn't name passing over the older man's face. Then Sirius lowered himself to the floor.

"I wasn't trying to fighten you," Sirius said, his eyes still wide and sad; they reminded him very suddenly of Padfoot's eyes. Didn't Remus just call Sirius Padfoot? But—

"I was angry at your aunt and uncle. I never thought…Lily and James's _son_." Sirius shook his head. "They lied to you, Harry. They lied to you in the worst way possible. Everything you are, everything your parents were…well, I told you all about them just now. Surely you know magic must be real. You've done accidental magic." He paused, and then his eyes widened even more. "You called yourself a freak last night. Is that what they've told you?" His voice started to rise, but he stopped himself again, pressing a skeletal hand to his face. The fingers on the other hand had curled into a fist, but they relaxed after a moment. Sirius dropped his arm. "Lily and James were the best witch and wizard Hogwarts ever saw. From the looks of it, you'll be following right behind. We'll do something to celebrate properly, as soon as we've got you sorted."

"Witch and wizard?" Harry asked, leaning forward just a little.

"Of course a witch and a wizard. Here, Remus, your wand."

"Sirius—"

"C'mon." Sirius held out his hand.

Remus hesitated another moment before handing over the stick he'd waved at Harry's foot.

Sirius took the stick and a piece of kindling from the hearth. With a couple of strange words and a sharp gesture with the wand, the kinding piece shrank and turned gold-ish, then sprouted thin wings of a glittery wood that fluttered madly in midair. The goldish thing wobbled through the living room for several moments before dropping to the floor, where it twitched like a dying moth.

Harry stared open-mouthed, but Sirius frowned at it.

"It was supposed to turn into a Snitch." Sirius glared at the wand. "Bloody useless, this is." He handed it back to Remus.

"What's a Snitch?" Harry asked promptly, warming up to this subject and his godfather.

Sirius looked incredulous again. "How the sodding hell do the Hogwarts professors explain the wizarding world to Muggles?"

Harry closed his mouth, not quite knowing why he felt very foolish, and yet feeling that he should.

"You'll have to excuse Sirius," Remus said, sitting on the arm of the wingback chair. "He's never lived outside of the wizarding world. I don't think he can imagine not knowing about wizarding Britain's favorite sport."

"Thw wizarding world?" Harry asked.

"That's right," Sirius said. "The world away from the Muggles."

Remus smiled, answering Harry's questions before the boy could ask them. "Muggles are people who can't do magic. Wizards decided to hide their magic from Muggles a few centuries ago for a number of reasons. With the rise of Christianity, wizards were persecuted and killed. That is, since magic is 'pagan' and against the Christian God, it had to be eradicated. Never mind that many wizards converted along with the rest of the population. That was part of it. The official reason is that every Muggle would want magical solutions to their problems if they knew about the wizarding world, and there simply aren't enough of us to meet the demand. Some of it also has to do with a feeling among the purebloods and some halfbloods that wizards are inherently better than Muggles, since wizards have powers that Muggles don't. So we keep ourselves hidden, even though many of us live right alongside Muggles, which is why you've never seen any magic except your own before."

Harry nodded slowly.

"You come from a long line of wizards," Sirius said. "Well, your mum was Muggleborn—er, a witch or wizard who comes from a Muggle family," he explained, getting the idea of how to explain things to someone raised without magic. "But the Potters are old magic, back as far as you can go, and powerful, too. Of course, Lily was the top of our year. Couldn't beat her Charms work, or her potions."

"So…am I going to this Hoggarts place, too?"

"Hogwarts, and you bet you are."

"And…the abnormal things I do?"

"There's nothing _abnormal_ about you, Harry," Sirius answered. "It's just accidental magic. All children do it. I mean, all wizard children do. When you go to Hogwarts, you'll get your wand and learn to focus your magic and control it so those things will stop happening. But we should be celebrating your first signs of magic. We need to do the thing properly. Cake and ice cream, at the least. And a trip to Diagon Alley, surely. Get you a broom, maybe an owl. Though, you should have all that already. I'll see that you do, you know. Right as soon as you've got your feet again."

Harry didn't quite know what Sirius was talking about, but cake and ice cream and a trip someplace that was probably in the wizarding world sounded like more than he knew how to hope for. He found himself grinning.

Sirius grinned back, and the haunted look in his eyes fading away, as though a younger man suddenly stared out.

"So do you forgive me for giving you a scare, mate?" Sirius asked.

Harry considered, but nodded.

Sirius's grin widened, and he swelled with an almost childish joy. "Brilliant. Now, let's let Moony get you put back together, yeah?"

Harry nodded and didn't pull back much when Sirius came close and picked him up to put him back in the chair. He couldn't remember being given such tender care, and he forgot all about the hard wad of cash still held in one hand.

After his feet had been healed, he got carried to the bathroom, too, because the new skin on his soles was pink and tender. Sirius ran him a bath, and Remus took away the mud-soaked, torn pajamas, while Harry washed dirt and twigs out of his hair.

Sirius was just showing him how to put on a set of old robes Remus had shrunk down to be something close to Harry's size (closer than Dudley's old clothes, at any rate), when someone knocked on the door.

The two men looked at each other.

"That'll be Dumbledore," Remus said.

"Fuck," Sirius answered, sounding more tired than angry.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: Ok, I'm really not happy with this chapter, but I wanted to put it up before I went to visit my family for the long weekend. I'm quite open to criticism here. And I'm sorry to have cut off so abruptly. I will actually give explanations in the next chapter. Promise! I have at least three chapters more to go before I decide whether I just end it or introduce an actual plot, whereas before I thought I'd only have two after this point.

And wow! That's a lot of reviews to get! I'm actually a bit embarrassed to have such a disappointing chapter on offer. Well, I'll quit moaning about it already.

As always, thank you to everyone who reviewed! Thank you to everyone who enjoys the fic. And, a special thanks to the underrecognized people, the ones who actually read A/Ns. It's nice to think that someone might be paying attention to my incessant blathering and actually gleaning the rare bits of useful information from the senseless mass of senselessness.

Now read the chapter.

**Chap. 6**

"Who's Dumbledore?" Harry ventured. He then yelped when Sirius picked him up without warning and took him back to the living room.

"He's the Headmaster of Hogwarts," Remus answered.

"Meddling old fool is what he is," Sirius answered, setting Harry back down on a brown sofa.

Remus opened the front door. "Headmaster, I thought that it might be you. Please, come in. You got my owl, then?"

Dumbledore turned out to be an old man with an impossibly long, white beard, and small, gold-framed glasses. The bathrobe-trenchcoat thing he wore was much more complicated and colorful than either Sirius's or Remus's, with gold trim and embroidered silk. He also wore a tall, pointed hat so that he had to duck his head to fit through the doorway.

"I did, indeed," Dumbledore said. "And I seem to be the only one."

"Yes, well, it couldn't be helped. I only have the one owl, you see."

"Naturally. The Ministry has been informed, however. They are calling off the search even as we speak."

"Exactly as I had hoped," Remus answered, though he sounded less than thrilled. "Would you care to sit down? Tea?"

"Tea would be just the thing, thank you." Dumbledore took up the wingback chair Harry had been in earlier, facing the sofa and its two occupants, one a bewildered boy and the other a petulant man. Dumbledore inclined his head to the latter. "Sirius."

"Headmaster."

Harry felt as much as saw the Headmaster's gaze land upon him, the mild blue eyes penetrating deep. "Hello, Harry."

Harry glanced sidelong at Sirius before offering a quiet, "Hello."

"You gave everyone quite a scare."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"There's nothing for you to apologize for," Sirius informed him.

"Everyone will be happy to know that you've been found safe," Dumbledore said.

Harry didn't think that his aunt and uncle would really care all that much, so he just shrugged.

"And you've enjoyed your time with Sirius?"

Harry hesitated there, still feeling a bit uneasy in this living room, with these people. He'd enjoyed some of his time, but Sirius's moods varied so widely, he couldn't be sure what to think.

"Why ask him that?" Sirius demanded. "In the past tense, like it's over and done with?"

"We both agree that Harry's protection is the first priority—"

"There's more than one type of protection. Keep his body running so he can fight your battles for you? Not anymore. And don't tell me you don't know all about his bloody aunt and uncle. _There's no such thing as magic_, he told me. James Potter's _son_. If you think for even a moment—"

"Tea and biscuits," Remus announced upon entering the living room.

Harry thought it was very quick to have got tea ready, but decided that lots of things must be possible with magic.

Remus carried the tray to the coffee table. After the partitioning of tea and biscuits (Harry got a full three, just like each of the adults, and even got two big scoops of sugar for his tea), everyong sipped from their beakers in a tense silence. Harry leaned back on the couch and munched a biscuit, crumbs falling all over his chest.

"I was going to take Harry to Diagon Alley," Sirius told Dumbledore, sounding extremely civil, like when Uncle Vernon had to talk to Mrs. Figg. "He needs a proper introduction to the wizarding world, and it seems I need to stop at Ollivander's, as well."

"You should at least give it time to circulate that he's been found," Remus said. "If you go tomorrow, you can just stay at the Leaky Cauldron for the night."

"But tomorrow night's—"

"Exactly."

"But I was going to—"

"I know you were, but I don't want Harry here. It's much too dangerous."

"But if he—"

"_No_."

"Don't you want—?"

"This has nothing to do with what you or I want. This is about Harry. I will not put him in that kind of danger, under any circumstances."

"Well, sod it, then." Sirius stood. "What's the bloody use in being his godfather when everyone else decides what I can and cannot do?"

"Grow up, Black."

"_Grow up_? That's your answer, Lupin? I—"

"_Yes_, that's my answer. Lily and James are _dead_."

Sirius winced at that and opened his mouth, but Remus overrode him, standing as well.

"You don't get to just take him for all the fun things, spoil him rotten, and then hand him back. You've got a responsibility to him. He will _always_ come ahead of what you want. If you're not prepared for that, then his place is with his aunt and uncle."

Sirius opened his mouth again, his hand clenched into fists and his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, but no sound came out. Half a moment, and his gaze slid toward Harry, who tried to blend in with the couch as much as possible.

Sirius growled something angry and incomprehensible before stalking out the front door and into the rain.

The house shook with the force of the door slamming, and then everything got very, very quiet.

Remus looked suddenly embarrassed, ducking his head at Dumbledore and then Harry before shuffling back into his chair.

Harry looked between the adults for several long moments. Remus stared at the fire, or into his tea, or anywhere that wasn't one of the other two occupants of the room. Dumbledore, on the other hand, looked quite as though he were taking a quiet cup of tea on a relaxing afternoon.

It turned out to be Remus who broke the silence, regarding the boy over his beaker.

"He doesn't mean to frighten you, Harry. He's been in prison for eight years. He needs time to sort everything out."

Harry nodded mutely. He looked up at the windows when he heard a deep bark, followed by the squawks of birds. "Can…can I still ask questions?"

"You may always ask questions," Remus answered.

"Oh." He looked down at his feet for a moment, then asked, "Can wizards…turn into animals?"

Remus looked surprised, but then smiled a little. "A very few can. They're called Animagi."

"Is Sirius an Animagi?"

"An Animagus, yes. Have you figured him out so quickly?"

"He looks like Padfoot. I mean. He does in the eyes. And you called him Padfoot. And he knew what I said last night, and only Padfoot was there then. And they were never here both at the same time."

Remus's smiled grew wider. "Very good, Harry. He decided not to tell you straight off. You've already had quite a lot to take in."

"Padfoot was nice to me."

"Harry, Sirius loves you as much as if you were his own son. He has a lot to deal with right now, but how much he cares won't change. He says that being a dog is just easier. He doesn't have to think as much."

"So…whatever Padfoot is like, Sirius is like, too?"

Remus nodded.

"But it's harder for Sirius to be Sirius…'cause…being a dog is easier?" Harry frowned because that didn't come out right at all.

But Remus must have understood what he meant, because he nodded again. "Padfoot is just Sirius if Sirius didn't have to worry about so many things."

Yeah, that was what Harry wanted to say.

"I think," said Dumbledore, who Harry had nearly forgotten, "that I would like to hear exactly how you and Sirius found Harry when so many Aurors could not."

"Oh. Yes, of course." Remus set his cup aside and considered.


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: Right, so it's a bit short, but some explaining is done, more for the readers' sake than anything. And I've given up on figuring how many chapters I have left to go. This chapter gave me a couple of ideas for future events, and since I'm keeping around 1,000 words per chapter ('cause it's a nice, round number that I know I can hit and usually exceed most weeks), things are going to happen relatively slowly. Hell, it's been the same morning for six chapters now. Most of my previous attempts at long fics each had chapters about as long as the first six chapters of this fic, which is probably why I never got anywhere with them, but it also means that my estimation of what constitutes one chapter is way off.

I meant to say in my last chapter, if you like this story, you should go and read _A Promise Worth Keeping_. I can't remember the author's name, but I'm sure you'll find it easily if you do a search. Anyone who's already read it will have noted the plot points that I jacked from that fic. But it's a great AU, and definitely a better fic than this one.

Ok, that's everything that comes to mind. As always, thank you to everyone who reads and everyone who reviews. Oh! I just realized, I never told you that I don't own HP. This may come as a shock to everyone, but I don't. I don't get any monetary profit from this fic. The rights really do belong to JKR and WB. If they did belong to me, I and the rest of fandom would have to call JKR and WB with a collective WTF! And then there'd be weird music, with a guy in the background talking about a journey not of sight and sound, but of mind, while breaking windows float through the air. And then it'll all turn out really badly, 'cause that's what happens when that music plays, and I'd get my come-uppance for whichever of the Seven Deadly Sins I was guilty of, or just because a passing alien thought I'd make a fun toy for his daughter. And I just don't want to deal with that sort of hassle. So, in conclusion, it's really better that I don't own the rights to HP.

**Chap. 7**

"Honestly, I don't know exactly how we found him," Remus said. "Sirius and I discussed it at length last night, and I got what information I could from my own books this morning. The spells you used are old magic."

Dumbledore nodded, but didn't say anything.

"You know better than I do that there are any number of theories about _how_ old spells like these work, which is one of the reasons they're not used by the average witch or wizard."

Harry had the very odd impression of an overgrown student reciting his times tables for the teacher as Remus spoke.

"I can only assume that the protections you set shield against unknown enemies as well as known ones. Older magic tends to work in many ways like that, while being altogether too subtle to really analyze with modern methods. When he ran away, he didn't want to be found by _anyone_. I expect that the great degree of feeling he had strengthened the magic, so that literally anyone who was searching for him, police, Auror, or Death Eater, wouldn't be able to find him unless he jumped out from his hiding places and shouted. Given the age of the spell, it would have been a lot of subtle things that got in the way of finding Harry, things that no one even realized was interference. Being called away just when they were about to stumble upon him. A slight variation in the casting of any tracking spell. Variations on the spells we use to repel Muggles, making things look completely uninteresting to searching eyes. A dog barking at the same moment he made too much noise.

"From what Sirius said, Harry had probably come to a point that he wanted _someone_ to find him, but that he didn't want it to be a cop or a Death Eater or anyone of that sort. Being found by a friendly dog was a fortuitous event, by Harry's thinking. Being found by someone who also didn't want the police, Aurors, or Death Eaters and yet had his best interests in mind made it especially promising. I expect that's what caused the sudden change in Sirius's behavior that evening. We'd been combing London magically for a week, with Sirius occasionally turning into Padfoot to search for Harry's scent. That evening, though, he decided that he would strike out on his own. An entirely Sirius thing for him to do, so I expect he was influenced by Harry's protection."

Dumbledore nodded sagely; Harry's brain just felt a bit numb, so he suspected that all had made more sense to the adults than it had to him.

"I had suspected that Petunia's protection would work in a similar way," said Dumbledore. "Of course, I had hoped it would never be tested in the way that it has. I would be very interested to learn of any further developments in your research."

Remus nodded. "Of course."

"If there are any materials I can give you access to, I would of course be more than happy."

"Yes, thank you."

A sudden eruption of viscious growling and barking alerted the three to the new arrivals a moment before someone pounded on the door.

Remus drew his wand before answering, hardly opening the door before two men and a woman, all wearing the same kind of black robes and scaly boots, pushed their way in.

The tallest of the three, a broad-shouldered fellow with dark hair and eyes, glared at Remus.

"You're Lupin?"

Remus didn't pocket his wand, but he didn't raise it, either. He nodded.

"That mutt of yours needs to be chained. He's a right menace. You'll be fined for assaulting Aurors."

The three Aurors spun at the sound of growling right behind them, pulling their wands.

Before they could select a spell, though, the dog morphed into Sirius, who stopped growling, but looked no more pleased by the visitors.

"Black!" the second man, a redhead, said.

"You're trespassing," Sirius said.

"We've been sent by the Ministry," the woman, tall and brown-haired, announced.

"Why?"

"We've received word that Harry Potter has been found and is being held at this address," said the first wizard.

"He isn't being _held_ anywhere," Sirius answered.

All three Aurors threw skeptical glances at Remus.

The second man said, "We've been ordered to take him to the Ministry for processing before returning him to the Muggles—"

Harry hardly had the chance to dread returning to Privet Drive before Sirius replied, "You're not taking him anywhere without _my_ permission."

Remus took a step forward and asked as one inquiring about the weather. "When you say processing, what do you—?"

The first wizard cut across Remus as though he hadn't spoken.

"The Ministry don't care about your permission, _Black_."

"I'm his legal guardian, so they had better _start_ caring."

"He's off his bloody rocker," the witch said.

"Mr. Black is actually in full control of his faculties, and his rights."

Everyone turned to look at Dumbledore, still sitting in the old wingback, a mug in one hand and half of a biscuit in the other while he smiled benignly.

"Professor, sir," said the redheaded wizard.

"Headmaster," said the witch.

The lead wizard glowered, but said nothing.

"Mr. Potter is indeed Mr. Black's legal charge," Dumbledore continued. "And he is right that the Ministry cannot remove him from his custody without the proper documentation."

Sirius glared at the black-robed wizards. "Which means you're going to keep your dirty paws off of him."

"It'll be an easy sell, telling the Ministry you're insane, exposing the Boy Who Lived to things like _that_." The lead wizard nodded at Remus, who gave no sign of noticing.

Sirius, on the other hand, bristled visibly. Harry scrambled from the couch to stand, not sure what he could say or do, but hating the broad-shouldered wizard for talking about Remus like some piece of foul rubbish.

Dumbledore stood, as well, except that he was still smiling.

"Well, thank you for the tea, Remus. I really must be getting back to Hogwarts. Send me an owl if your research turns up anything interesting."

"Yes, of course."

"And Harry, it was very good to see you again." Dumbledore reached out to shake his hand. "You may also send me an owl, any time that you like."

Sirius and Dumbledore exchanged a formal farewell, and then, a moment later and as though by magic, the Hogwarts Headmaster and the three black-robed wizards were back outside, Remus locking the door behind them.

"Dumbledore just helped me keep custody of Harry," Sirius said, still glaring at the door.

Remus nodded.

Sirius's eyes narrowed further. "Manipulative bastard."

Remus nodded.


	9. Chapter 8

A/N: Never fear; I'm still updating every week. The holiday put me behind, and I'm meant to be writing essays right now, but I'm still posting weekly.

I have another rec. You should read _The Potter and the Kettle Black_, by An Acolyte if you like AU's like this one. It's actually not like this one, in that it's a PoA AU, but it's a good fic so far.

Ok, not going to ramble so much this time. Going to go and write a paper for one of my English classes. Woo.

All reviews are appreciated. Concrit is your friend.

**Chap. 8**

Harry's feet were still tender, so he sat back on the couch, not sure what else to do with himself. He looked at the two adults, but they looked nearly as lost as he felt.

"It's nearly time for lunch already, I think," Remus said, looking at his watch.

Sirius didn't look like he cared very much; he was watching Harry, who watched him back.

Remus glanced between the two of them. "I'll go and make sandwiches then, shall I?"

"Yeah, sure," Sirius answered.

Remus left, and Sirius approached the wingback chair carefully, as though it might break beneath him.

Harry only stared. He wondered what was meant to happen now. In fact, he had very little idea of what had happened for most of the morning. He started to think about it, try and piece it all together, but that only left him confused, with a growing sense of panic bubbling up inside of his chest. Uncle Vernon was just fine. He had a godfather, a man who went from laughing to a towering rage without even a moment's notice, and who also asserted his authority over Harry to anyone who would listen. Then there were Harry's parents, who hadn't died in a car crash, and who had been a witch and wizard. Because magic was real. Harry was a wizard, and Sirius was _happy_ about it. There was a whole other world that no one even knew about. Men with white beards or black robes wanted to take him away somewhere and send him back to the Dursleys'. But Sirius was determined he would stay here. Where was here? What was here? How long was he meant to stay? Until he went to this Hogwarts place? And then what happened there?

He realized with a jolt that he'd lost track of the money. He looked around, positive that having concrete autonomy in his hands would ground him, make his head stop spinning, tell him if he should feel scared or happy or sad or excited or weary or wide awake, instead of feeling everything all at once.

"Harry?" Sirius's voice was quiet, tremmulous, even. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the wad of pound notes.

Harry felt the ache in his feet as they drummed over the wood floor, but he'd snatched the money and returned to the couch before he could really care.

"I thought that might be what you were looking for," Sirius said.

Harry held tight to the notes. He could run again, if he had to. He'd make it this time. He'd know what to do. The money gave him security. It was the one thing he could count on.

Right?

He worried the paper in his hands. It wasn't working. He didn't feel any safer. He didn't have a clearer idea of what to do.

"Hey, Harry?" Sirius ventured again. "Are you all right? Look, mate, I'm sorry if I frightened you. Moony's right. I…I'm one fucked up son of a bitch." Sirius shook his head, then stopped. "Bollocks, I shouldn't be swearing in front of you, should I? Oh, sod it." Sirius glared into the fire.

"What's going to happen now?" Harry asked, hating his voice for the slight tremor in it.

His godfather looked up at him. "We can do whatever you like. Moony's right, we should wait till tomorrow to go to Diagon Alley. We'll have to spend the night at the Leaky Cauldron, as it is."

"But you were going to do something, right? I mean, I can go someplace if—"

Sirius shook his head. "No. No, Moony's right. You shouldn't be in the house when—tomorrow night." He leaned forward, an eager smile on his face. "Anyway, we'll have a brilliant time in Diagon Alley. We'll get you proper robes, and a broom. James Potter's son can't go on not knowing about Quidditch. There isn't much room here, but once I've got a house, I'll get someplace out in the country, with big trees so the Muggles can't see, and a house elf or two, sane ones, to do the cooking. It'll be brilliant."

"So…I'm not going back to the Dursleys'?"

Sirius pulled back slightly, his expression turning serious and worried. "You can if you want to. Of course you can. _Do_ you want to?"

Sirius looked as much like Padfoot then as a human possibly could, with his wide, gray eyes waiting.

Just the night before, Harry had wanted his cupboard and his cot more than anything else. He had _missed_ Aunt Petunia. Well, no, he had missed her cooking. He had warm meals and a bed here, and Remus was nice. Sirius…Sirius was nice some of the time. Nicer than any of the Dursleys ever were.

Harry shook his head.

Sirius grinned, and it reached all the way into his eyes, pushing away all traces of the haunted, slightly crazed look he'd had all morning. He looked almost _normal_. Harry couldn't help but grin back.

Sirius's stomach rumbled very loudly just then.

"I guess we should go into the kitchen, then," he said, standing.

Harry stood to follow, though he had to admit that he was still full from the large breakfast he'd had only a couple of hours before. Without warning, Sirius picked him up again and carried him to the kitchen table.

"You'll need those feet for Diagon Alley tomorrow. We'll have lots to do."

"Are you very hungry, Harry?" Remus asked from the counter.

Harry shook his head.

"That's a no," Sirius said because Remus's back was to them.

"I'll give you half of his, then. I'm afraid I don't have any crisps."

"One and a half sandwiches?" Sirius moaned. "Moony, I'm a starving man. Skin and bone. Emaciated. Suffering."

"Then I'll leave everything out so you can make yourself more," Remus said, picking up the three plates and taking them to the table.

"Some bloody host you are."

"Language, Padfoot."

"Remus, we talked—"

"He's already figured you out. Of course, you transformed right in front of him."

"He could see me from there?" Sirius looked at Harry. "I didn't think you could see me."

Harry shrugged.

"You're just lucky he'd already figured it out. Go ahead and tuck in."

"Had you now? Quick as his parents, this one."

"What really did happen to my parents?" Harry asked.

Both adults stopped, just as they were about to bite into their sandwiches. They looked at each other.

Then Remus said, "It's a rather long story. Sirius, why don't you explain?"

"Yes. Well. It was before Voldemort fell—"

"Voldemort is one of the Darkest wizards within centuries," Remus said. "He believes that only purebloods—people who have only wizard ancestry—are a supreme race of sorts."

"Evil times," Sirius said. "Didn't know who to trust. And we were sure we had a spy in the Order—"

"The Order of the Phoenix, which officially doesn't exist. Dumbledore was in charge of it. Our goals was to stop Voldemort in whatever ways we could."

The story went on like this for quite some time, with the two adults pausing to bicker about things Harry didn't understand. By the end, he had a great deal to think about.


	10. Chapter 9

A/N: Sorry this is so late! Classes just ended this week, so everything the profs hadn't already squeezed out of us had to be turned in. As compensation, this officially the longest chapter so far. I even included some backstory. Well, most of the backstory, to be honest.

I'm thinking this story is starting to wind down. I've got at least another three chapters in mind (honestly this time; I've learned how to judge them…I think), but I don't think there'll be too much to come after that. Anyway, there's another fic project I want to get started soon; I'm planning it now. It'll be a fun piece, especially if I can update it regularly and finish it, as I expect to do with this one. I might do some scenes from this AU, too, and some other stuff that's canon-compliant, so stay tuned for all of that in the next few months (I'm far from speedy, as you've probably noted).

Ok, hope you enjoy the chapter. Thank you for reading, and thank you in advance to everyone who reviews.

**Chap. 9**

Harry found himself on the sofa, too warm beneath two blankets and so near to a roaring fire. He didn't remember falling asleep. He'd been staring into the fire after lunch. He'd seen grown-ups doing that on TV and had always wondered how anyone could sit still that long, just staring. But with so many thoughts floating around in his head, he hadn't known what else to do with himself.

He sat up. The rain had stopped; it looked brighter than it had all day.

He looked at the blankets, unnerved. That was twice in a row that someone had tucked him in somewhere after he'd fallen asleep. Was that sort of thing normal? Aunt Petunia had always just woken him up and told him to get into his cupboard.

Harry stood up and went into the hall, where the frigid floor made his feet ache. To the right, he saw light coming from around a mostly-closed door. Harry went to it and knocked.

"Come in," Remus called.

Harry pushed his way in, finding an office on the other side. It was much cooler in here. Bookshelves lined two of the walls of the cramped room, and a desk took up most of the floorspace in the middle. Remus sat behind it, a quill in hand and bent over a couple of books. He smiled.

"Did you sleep well?"

Harry shrugged. He looked for something to sit on.

As though reading his mind, Remus pulled his wand from a pocket. He aimed it at a book, which turned into a small stool. Harry sank onto it gratefully. It was wobbly, and the edges of the seat were papery, but he didn't mind.

"Where's Sirius?"

"Sirius went to Diagon Alley."

"Oh. I thought we weren't going till tomorrow. I wouldn't have fallen asleep—"

"No, he'll be back soon. He just thought you could use some proper clothes. And he wanted to get a better potion for your feet. He's going to take you down to the village for dinner when he comes back."

"Oh." Harry craned his neck to look at the desk, but couldn't see much from that angle. "What're you doing?"

"I'm writing an article. It's about Muggle superstitions. I write for different journals sometimes, Muggle and wizard ones."

"Why?"

"It's an extra job."

"Oh."

Remus set down his quill. "Do you have more questions? I imagine you've got an awful lot to think about now."

Harry shrugged and picked at the papery edge of the stool.

"It's all right to be confused, or scared. If—"

"Is Sirius going to get better?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Sirius. You said I had to give him time. And he's so…I don't know. Will he get better?"

Remus nodded. "I think he will. He already seemed to come to his senses a bit more today. He wants to be a good godfather for you, but he doesn't have the first idea how to do that. He's still trying to put his own life together."

"Oh. He said he's going to get a house in the country somewhere."

"I expect he'll look for something large, with a lot of open land around it, good for running and playing Quidditch."

"That's the game with the broomsticks, right?"

Remus smiled and nodded. "That's the game with the broomsticks."

"Sirius said he'd get me one of those and teach me how to play."

"He's been talking about that since he got out of Azkaban."

"How did he get out? You said it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't run away."

"It may well not have done. We told you earlier how he got sent off to prison. Everyone thought he was guilty."

"Even you?"

Remus looked very sad then, but he nodded. "You have to understand, Harry, that we both suspected each other, and no one knew until just a couple of weeks ago that your parents had switched Secret Keepers. But when you went missing, our world, the wizard world, was in an uproar."

"Because I'm the Boy Who Lived?" Harry asked. He tried to imagine being famous, but he didn't even remember what he'd done, so it all just felt too big and strange.

"Because you're the Boy Who Lived. The entire Auror taskforce—do you remember what the Aurors are?"

Harry thought a moment; he'd had so many strange words and names thrown his way today, but the Auror one came back to him almost at once. "They're the ones that are like the Muggle police."

Remus smiled. "Very good. The entire Auror taskforce was put on alert. Dumbledore is the one who put up all of the wards and protections around you, so the Ministry was checking with him all the time. But the Aurors weren't the only ones who wanted to find you."

"Death Eaters," Harry said. He remembered the swish of dark cloaks in the night and shuddered.

"Yes, the Death Eaters." Remus shook his head. "Thank God none of them caught you. But do you know which of the Death Eaters was at Hogwarts just then?"

Harry leaned forward. "Who?"

"Do you remember what we told you about Peter? How he disappeared as a rat?"

"He was at _Hogwarts_ the whole time?"

"Not quite. He became the pet of a boy called Charlie Weasley, when he was about your age. The Weasleys are a pureblood family—"

"Like the Blacks? And the Malfoys?" Harry asked, trying to glare at the formless names.

"Not exactly like them. Not all purebloods are awful people. The Weasleys are just the sort of people who would make a pet out of an innocent looking rat, so they were perfect for Peter's needs. So he was Charlie's pet until the boy got an owl in his fifth year. Peter, known to the family as Scabbers, was passed down to the next oldest boy, Percy, who is now just finishing his third year at Hogwarts. So when you went missing, he was in the perfect place to find out everything that Dumbledore and the Ministry knew."

"And thend he would come after me?"

"No, I doubt that he would have done it himself." Remus glared at a bookshelf. "I think he would have sold the information."

"But how could he have used the money as a rat?"

Remus's expression cleared a little as he regarded Harry. "He wouldn't have sold it for money. He would have done it to curry favor with the Death Eaters again. You see, Voldemort was all but killed on Peter's information; many would suspect that Peter had laid a trap for him. But if he could deliver information that would let them get at you, he would have regained his position. He spent more than eight years as a rat because neither side would believe that he hadn't betrayed them. But this would have been his opportunity."

"What…what would the Death Eaters have done, if they'd caught me?" Harry asked.

"I don't know, exactly. None of them went looking for Voldemort after he was destroyed, so I doubt they would have sought to bring him back now."

"Would they have…_killed _me?"

Remus met Harry's eyes and nodded slowly. "Almost assuredly."

Harry shuddered again, realizing that he was a bit cold.

Remus must have noticed, because he stood and said, "Why don't we move back into the living room. Would you like a cup of chocolate?"

"Before dinner?" Harry asked without thinking.

Remus smiled. "Just this once. It's your first day back in the wizarding world. We can break a few rules."

A few minutes later, Harry sat on the couch with a beaker of chocolate. Remus took the wingback and continued his story.

"So Peter went up to Dumbledore's office, where Aurors were meeting all the time. They didn't have any leads on you at all after the first day; they were worried that you had already been kidnapped, or that you'd never run away at all, but that it had all been staged somehow. But Peter kept waiting and watching, ready to speed off with any new lead the moment that the Aurors had one. There was one thing he didn't count on, though. About three days after you went missing, and while Percy was in class so Peter had free reign of the castle, Mad-Eye Moody was in Dumbldore's office. You remem—"

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Harry cried, then clapped his hand over his mouth because he hadn't meant to be so loud.

But Remus laughed. "Yes, exactly. I'm impressed; you've had quite a lot to take in today, but you remember everything."

Harry grinned. He couldn't even remember the last time an adult had been impressed by him, if there ever had been such a time.

Remus turned more serious as he continued speaking. "Well, as you remember so well, Mad-Eye is very, very vigilant. With his magical eye, he'd seen Peter in that office more than once in those three days. So he became very suspicious. Most rats don't like being around so many people and large birds, and they especially don't tend to stay in one spot of such a big castle for days on end."

"Do phoenixes eat rats?"

"No, not usually, but a regular rat doesn't know that. And before Peter knew what had hit him, because Mad-Eye didn't give any sort of warning at all, he'd been Stunned. The Aurors and Dumbledore tried a few spells to find out if he was really just a rat or not. When they got to the one that forces an Animagus to show himself, they got quite a surprise."

"Because Peter was supposed to be dead."

"Right again. So they woke him up and questioned him with Veriteserum—that's a potion that forces someone to tell the truth—and they learned the whole story. Fudge didn't want to accept it, or to deal with a wrongly accused prisoner who was probably insane when he was facing the greatest crisis of his career—your diappearance—but Dumbledore and several Aurors and other politicians forced the matter, and Sirius was free quite suddenly. Fudge tried to keep it as quiet as possible, sending Peter to Azkaban in the middle of the night and freeing Sirius at the same time. A few reporters had been tipped off and were there at the dock, and Fudge tried to buy them off, or to threaten them, or to bribe them, but the story had to break a few days later, anyway. It made quite a stir, especialy when they found that Sirius hadn't lost his mind. Most of the prisoners in Azkaban do."

"Because of the dementors?"

"Because of the dementors. Whatever problems Sirius has right now, they're nothing to what most prisoners have after that long there. Fudge thought he'd be able to keep Sirius in the mental ward at St. Mungo's for the rest of his natural life, with no one knowing that the Ministry had got everything so wrong, but the healers found him to be remarkably sane, and so released him. He's been staying here ever since, trying to find you. I expect he'll start searching for a place for the two of you to live in the next few days. I'm sure you'll have moved and settled before you're even ten."

"You know when my birthday is?"

"Of course I do; I was there the day you were born."

Harry was about to ask about that, but he jumped at the sound of a loud _crack_ right outside.

Remus got up to open the door for Sirius, who was preceded by floating boxes and bags. When Sirius entered, he looked very smug, waving a very polished and new-looking wand at the packages lazily. He grinned at Harry.

"Good to see you're up, mate. We'll be going for dinner soon, and I got a potion for those feet of yours. You'll be back to normal before you can say 'quality Quidditch quaffles quietly quote quaint, questioning, quibbling quips.'"

Harry had no doubt of this, as he had only the vaguest idea of what his godfather had just said.


	11. Chapter 10

A/N: Ok, so this is just a little late. What's a month between updates? Finals week and Christmas were very busy. I even finally got my driver's license. Woo.

Anyway, so here's another long chapter. It's a bit wandering, and I'm not very happy with some of the dialogue, but then I never am.

Oh, and in case anyone was wondering in the last chapter, I base the Weasley's ages off of what was said in PS/SS, that Gryffindor hadn't won the Quidditch cup in the seven years since Charlie graduated. I know JKR wants the Weasleys to all be two years apart (except Ginny and Ron), but the math doesn't work. I go by what she says in the books instead of what she says in interviews, because I don't think that calculating ages and dates is really her strong point. So that makes Charlie 22 or so at this point in time and Bill 24. The twins are just finishing their first year, and Percy is finishing his third.

Spring Semester starts this week, but I think I'll be updating regularly again. I still have a few more plot points that I'd like to cover. And as always, reviews are appreciated. Concrit is adored.

A/N 2: To anyone who read the original, there's a hiatus part way down. The formatting got screwed up when I put the file onto the site. I think I've got it fixed now, though.

**Chap. 10**

Harry pulled on his band new coat, which was a simple brown and just a little loose. He was glad that Sirius had thought to buy him a belt, because his new trousers were a size too big, too, but the red jumper fit perfectly.

"Well. It's better than what you had, at least," Sirius said, surveying his godson.

"I think it's brilliant," Harry answered. He had to keep stretching his arms to get the cuffs of his coat off of his palms, but that was loads better than never being able to use his hands at all, or than being cold anyway because the wind came in through an over-sized collar and up from the baggy bottom.

"We'll stop in Muggle London sometime tomorrow and get you something that fits properly. I know the robes I got will do better. Muggle sizes are impossible if you're not there to try everything." Sirius shook his head.

"By winter, the coat and trousers might fit him perfectly," Remus said.

Sirius looked unimpressed by this logic. "It'll do for the evening, at least." He picked up the plastic bag from the Muggle shop. "We'll go as soon as I've changed, too."

Harry nodded and sat down on the couch, kicking his newly healed feet. The shoes were a little tight, so he was glad his feet weren't sore anymore. He looked at Remus.

"Don't you have to change, too?"

Remus smiled. "No. This is your and Sirius's celebration. I'm staying here."

"Don't you want to come?"

"You and Sirius need a chance to get to know each other again. I'm sure he intends to stuff you as full of food and ice cream and chocolate as he can manage." Remus's smile widened. "Try not to get too sick, all right?"

Harry, who had never eaten so much of anything that he got sick, nodded vaguely. Chocolate and _ice cream_? Tonight was going to be brilliant!

"You could still come, though, couldn't you? You're Sirius's friend, too."

"Don't bother with him," Sirius called from down the hall. A moment later, he appeared in the doorway in jeans and an old-looking leather jacket. "I've already invited him, but he'd rather play the martyr."

"Sirius—"

"Come on, Moony. It's a celebration, not bloody charity."

"That's not—"

"And we both know Lily wanted you to be the godfather."

"Really?" Harry asked.

"No, not really," Remus answered.

"Of course really," Sirius said. "The _responsible_ Marauder. The one who would help you with your homework and teach you Latin and just be totally boring."

"Oh, ta," Remus said.

"It's true. If he weren't—"

"But I am, and that's that. Now go and eat."

"You just want us out of your house."

"Desperately. I really don't think I can bear your ugly mug much longer without vomiting. In fact, don't come back, if you can help it. Harry, you're always welcome. Just see if you can't abandon this old dog out on a street somewhere."

"You wound me, Remus. Deeply. Come along, Harry. I'll be inconsolable for days. What're _you_ laughing at?"

Harry put a hand over his mouth to keep himself from giggling, but it didn't work very well. He'd never seen adults act like this.

"Think this is funny, do you? Think seeing your godfather deeply insulted is a laughing matter?"

Harry shook his head.

"Indeed. All right, then, Mister Moony. We'll leave. For now."

"Finally."

"Come along, Harry. We shan't bother this old, irritating, boring, small-minded, bad-mannered, old, troll-faced, dragon-tempered, stupid-like-a-Muggle-staircase, old codger, who's also a very bad host."

"Your creative insults are astounding." Remus waved Sirius and Harry out the door. It was just starting to get dark outside. "But I'm also younger than you. And don't let him make himself sick. Cheers."

Sirius turned to reply, but found the door slammed in his face. "_Well_! You'll regret this, Lupin!" He then looked at Harry and grinned. "Shall we, then?"

Harry shrugged, eying the covered thing that looked suspiciously like a motorbike standing a few meters away. He didn't see any car. In fact, he didn't see any road, either.

He looked at Sirius, who waved his wand and produced a large, round helmet.

"There you are. Put that on, and we'll be ready to go." Sirius flicked his wand at the motorbike, and the cover flew off, landing in a crumpled heap in the leaves.

Harry squinted at the bike, stepping closer. Something stirred in his brain, something vague and from a dream. He turned to Sirius, who was watching him.

"Does…does it _fly_?"

"Of course she does." Sirius considered the motorbike a moment. "You don't…_remember_ her, do you?"

"I have a dream sometimes about a flying motorbike. And someone big. Maybe it's a memory of you."

"It's a memory all right, but not of me. The someone big is probably Hagrid."

"He's the one who took me to the Dursleys."

"That's right. I lent him my bike after…well, that night."

"Oh." Harry looked up at his godfather, who was staring at his bike, his eyes dull and far away like they had been that morning. Searching for something to break the silence, Harry asked, "How does it work? How high does it go?"

Sirius returned to the present with a shake of his head and helped Harry climb onto the back before getting on himself. "Hold on tight, mate."

He showed Harry how to start the motorbike and rev the engine. He revved it so loud that Harry winced.

"And off we go!"

Harry kept his arms tight around Sirius's waist as they took off at a steep climb to get above the trees. They skimmed the leafy tops for a moment before climbing again. Harry's stomach fluttered as the wind roared past his ears, but as Sirius turned into a steep dive, two wild shouts of excitement overcame the engine. They swooped down over the cottage, right by the window of Remus's office. Sirius took them down for two more passes before aiming for a group of lights nestled between two large hills.

Harry was disappointed to land on the road, still a few kilometers from the village, but Sirius showed no inhibitions about speed in the growing dark.

All too soon, they pulled to a halt.

"Can we do that again on the way back?" Harry asked.

"Of course."

(Note: This is officially a hiatus. The site keeps erasing my asterisks and pound signs. Please note that time has elapsed with this "break," and that this would look like a normal manuscript or novel hiatus if I were allowed to keep my punctuation or at least my spaces. Thank you, and this completes this chapter's hiatus.)

Remus had the door open before Sirius and Harry even touched down. He watched Sirius dismount and pick up Harry.

"Moony, good, you're still up. He's—"

"Of course he is. Bring him in, set him by the fire."

Remus followed them in.

Harry groaned. "I hate ice cream."

Remus tried not to smile, not when Sirius looked so distraught.

"What'm I s'posed to do, Moony? Is he—"

"He's fine, Sirius. Sit him there. Harry, if you have to throw up, try to aim for this pot." Remus set a large pot on the hearth next to Harry.

"He already did that, actually, on the way home."

"'M never eating chocolate 'gain," Harry answered. He looked a bit green, and he leaned heavily into Sirius.

Remus checked the page he'd marked in the book of household charms he had set on the coffee table, next to the pepper-up potion.

"Hold still, Harry, you'll be fine in a minute."

With a muttered charm, some of the color returned to Harry's face, and he opened his eyes, sighing in relief.

"What'd I tell you?" Sirius asked. "Moony knows all sorts of useful charms."

"I practiced it after the two of you left."

"What a coincidence that you'd need it tonight, too."

Remus rolled his eyes. "How are you feeling, Harry?"

"Better," Harry murmured sleepily, still leaning into Sirius.

"I've got some pepper-up potion, but maybe you should just go to bed."

"I'm not that tired," Harry answered, opening bleary eyes and sitting up.

"You've had a long night, and there'll be lots to do in Diagon Alley tomorrow. Surely you don't want to be tired then?"

"I won't be. I'm still okay."

"At least get ready for bed, then, so that you won't have to worry about it when you _are_ very tired."

Harry didn't move; he watched Remus, as though trying to figure out if this was some sort of trick.

"Go on, Harry. Go clean your teeth," Sirius said.

Defeated, Harry stood up and wandered toward the bathroom.

"Maybe you should have been his godfather, after all," Sirius said.

Remus moved to sit on the couch. With the rain so close to the full moon, his joints had started to ache. "Because I can look up a charm to cure upset stomachs? You're the one he looks up to already. It's just been a long time since you were around people. It won't take you long."

"It's not people. It's children. You're a natural father."

"You let him eat too much ice cream. That's hardly the end of the world. It sounds like you've both learned your lessons with no real harm done. Don't do this to yourself for something so small."

"It's not the ice cream. You have a way with him, a way of relating to him and explaining things to him and getting him to clean his teeth."

"It's no magic talent, Sirius. You'll learn. You're already starting to learn. He's starting to trust you, and that's the most important thing. He didn't go until you told him to."

"I'll learn? Maybe. Probably. But you've got it all naturally, like you were put here to make lots of little Lupinlettes."

"Have you seen the evening edition of the _Prophet_?"

"What?"

"The _Prophet_." Remus leaned forward to pick it up from the coffee table and toss it to Sirius, who took it and read.

**Harry Potter Found, Unharmed?**

LONDON—Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed this afternoon that the Boy Who Lived has been found, alive and safe. The Minister would not release details about Mr. Potter's current location, and St. Mungo's Hospital has confirmed that they have not treated our young hero. Aurors who saw the boy state that he appears unharmed and in remarkably good health after more than two weeks of evading detection. Foul play has not been ruled out.

"I find it hard to believe that Potter would have gone undetected for so long on his own," said Auror Patrick Fogarty.

Chief Auror Allastor Moody told reporters, "Our job is to examine all possibilities. Nothing is ruled out. Costant vigilance is the only way to learn what happened to the Potter boy."

However, the Ministry is very vague about what those possibilities are.

Said Proteus Gotts, spokesman for Minister Fudge, "Any time something like this happens to someone as famous and important as Mister Potter, it is the job of the Ministry to know all of the facts. The Auror force were not the only people searching for the boy. We don't know that they were the only ones to have found him, either."

These ominous words only add to the questions raised while Mr. Potter was still missing. Reports indicate that Vernon Dursley, Potter's Muggle uncle, was struck by a petrification jinx preceding the boy's flight. Aurors and Healers have several theories about this.

"The magic detected by the Ministry was powerful and unfocused," explained Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. "That's consistant with the sort of accidental magic done by children Potter's age."

Shacklebolt went on to say that Dursley admits to arguing with Potter at the time of the incident. This leads many to speculate that the jinx was simply a result of anger, which is a common producer of accidental magic.

Esther Hayden, a Healer specializing in trauma in children, said, "Many wizard children brought up in Muggle homes are frightened by their own powers. A boy of Harry Potter's age would not know what to do in such a situation. I think he ran away out of fear."

Auror Fogarty disagrees. "The whole thing stinks. One small boy as famous as Harry Potter could not disappear for two weeks without being kidnapped."

Ministry spokespeople have indicated no official position.

Sirius opened his mouth to comment, but another headline caught his eye.

**Harry Potter to Live with Convicted Murderer**

Auror Patrick Fogarty, who visited Harry Potter's current location early this morning, returned with the shocking news that Sirius Black, convicted murderer released from Azkaban only one week ago, is the current guardian of the Boy Who Lived. Black claims this right as Potter's godfather, a position that has not been confirmed by the Ministry.

Fogarty expressed concerns about this arrangement. "I don't care what the Healers say. No one spends that kind of time in Azkaban without going insane. And it's the ones that seem sane that you have to watch out for the most because it just means they're really good at fooling people."

The Auror went on to note that Black is currently involved with people he describes as "shady characters," though Fogarty would not give names.

This is unsettling news for many people who are already concerned about Mr. Potter's health and safety after the last two weeks. No one in the Ministry was available for comment.

Sirius threw the paper into the fire instead, then glared at it as it erupted in blue and yellow flames. A photograph of Fudge looked satisfyingly terrified as it curled and blackened.

"Would someone explain to these fuckers that I can't bloody well be a convicted murderer if I never had a fucking trial to convict me of anything?"

"But the headline 'Harry Potter to Live with Unconvicted Once-Assumed-Murderer Who Was Actually Framed' just doesn't have the same ring to it," Remus said.

"Do you think they'd publish my letter if I wrote to them?"

"I'm sure that they've got many owls from Sirius Black already. You could offer Skeeter an interview, though."

"What's Skeeter?"

Sirius looked up at Harry, who had come back and sat in the wingback chair, unnoticed.

"Rita Skeeter," Remus said. "She was a year ahead of us at Hogwarts."

"A gossipy old hag of a Ravenclaw is what she was," Sirius said. "And now she writes the _Prophet's_ best worst drivel. The fiction she puts into the paper is absolutely fascinating." He looked at Remus. "Does Dumbledore still lace his candies with Muggle narcotics?"

"We don't know. The _Prophet_ was barred from making any conclusive investigation."

"Ah, of course." Sirius looked back to Harry, whose eyelids had started to droop again. "Tired?"

"No."

Sirius smiled. "Well, it's late, so upstairs with you, anyway."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

Harry considered his godfather for a moment before standing and trudging up the stairs.

Sirius followed to find the pajamas he'd bought earlier and make sure Harry was settled for the night.


	12. Chapter 11

For the first hour, Harry thought Diagon Alley and being famous were both brilliant. He could have done without the Floo, but the man behind the bar had recognized him almost at once, and then everyone in the _Leaky Cauldron_ surrounded him, happy to see him and shaking his hand. He'd never had such a reception anywhere, and he'd been disappointed when Sirius broke through the circle and laid a hand on his shoulder; all of the grins turned to suspicious or angry glares, and a few people started muttering behind their hands. Harry turned and craned his neck to get a look at his godfather's face, but Sirius gave no indication of having noticed the change.

Harry tried to run in every direction at once when they entered Diagon Alley, but Sirius kept them on a (mostly) straight path to Gringotts, where Harry stared at the goblins and tried to glimpse a dragon on the ride down. His mouth fell open when he saw the piles of coins in his parents' vault.

"It's all yours, mate." Sirius leaned down and held out a small, gold key. "I'm going to give this to you. You've got to keep it safe, but it means you can come and take all the money you want, no matter what."

Harry took the key and stared at it for a moment before stuffing at the bottom of one of the pockets in his robes—which, true to Sirius's word, fit him almost perfectly. He bent down to scoop, but Sirius laid a hand on his shoulder.

"As long as you're with me, you won't have to worry about money. Keep your key safe, but you won't need it yet."

They rode the cart down to Sirius's vault, which was just as full. Sirius filled a pouch with coins and handed it to Harry before filling a larger bag of his own.

After Gringotts, Sirius set them in the direction of Quality Quidditch Supplies, but Harry wanted to see the Apothecary first, no matter how many times his godfather assured him that it was all "completely normal and boring potions supplies." But he had to get a closer look at the pickled toad brains.

"Is that really a unicorn's horn?" Harry asked, smudging the glass case with this fingers and nose.

Sirius bent down to look.

"Seems so."

"And there, in those jars, that's dragon's blood?"

"That's what the sign says."

"And those coiled things, that's dragon heartstring?"

"Not much good all dried out like that."

But Harry had already moved on to the next shelf. "What's _that_?"

"Preserved garden gnome. There aren't many potions that use that sort of thing, probably why there's so much dust on the jar."

And finally, Harry allowed himself to be dragged into the Quidditch store, where Sirius started a long explanation of everything. Harry became too transfixed by all of the posters to really hear everything, but he came around in plenty of time to see a small fortune of gold traded for two new brooms.

The trouble started the moment they walked outside. A bright flash blinded Harry for a moment. He blinked away the spots in time to glimpse a very large camera before he had to blink through three more flashes and a haze of purple smoke.

"Harry Potter!" cried a woman in bright yellow and pink robes. "Such an honor to meet you."

Harry found his hand being shaken with vigor as the witch in yellow peered at him through horn-rimmed glasses.

"Rita Skeeter, with the _Daily Prophet_. The whole country is just dying to hear your story, Harry. How did you survive so long, out on your own, not a friend in the world? And is it true that you're living with a man convicted of killing—"

"I can't be convicted of anything if I haven't had a bloody trial," Sirius growled. "Why don't you print _that_ part of it?"

"Oh, Mr. Black, excellent, I'd like to get a few quotes from you as well." Skeeter pulled an acid-green quill from her purse.

"We're not interested in your little rag, Skeeter. Now back off. Come on, Harry."

Sirius guided Harry by the shoulder.

The camera started flashing again, and Skeeter followed. Sirius's grip tightened on Harry's shoulder. Harry tried to walk faster, but Skeeter hardly seemed to notice, except that the clack of her high heeled shoes on the cobblestones becamelouder.

"Now, Harry, tell me—"

"He has no reason to tell you anything." Sirius sounded dangerous, quieter than when Harry had said there was no such thing as magic, but with the same edge, somehow.

"Now what exactly are you hiding, I wonder," Skeeter said.

Sirius stopped moving; he lost his grip on his godson's should because Harry didn't stop soon enough.

Harry turned and found that Sirius had his wand in hand. Before Harry could say anything, Sirius had cast a spell at Skeeter. Her quill sailed over Harry's head and into Sirius's waiting palm.

Skeeter crossed her arms. "So I haven't got a quill. Do you really think that'll stop me?"

Sirius did some quick spellwork, which fascinated Harry. Sirius tossed the quill back to Skeeter.

"Do you remember the truth potion we put in your coffee after you started those rumors about Hagrid?" Sirius asked. "And how Madam Pomfrey's counteractive potions and spells didn't help at all? Do you remember how awful you looked after three days of being able to tell nothing but the truth? Just try asking my godson another question, or printing any of your drivel about him, and I'll make those three days of truth-telling look like a bloody fucking Sunday picnic, with a bright blue sky and cheerful fucking birds singing in trees with beautiful blooming fucking flowers. Are we clear?"

"You can't threaten a journalist and think she'll quiet down." Skeeter said this with great force, but she watched Sirius nervously. In fact she had paled noticeably at the mention of the truth potion in her coffee.

Sirius flicked his wand; nothing happened, but Skeeter jumped. Then she glared before stomping off with her cameraman in tow.

As the sound of her heels faded, Harry heard another strange walking pattern coming at them from the _Leaky Cauldron_ end of the Alley. Step, thunk. Step, thunk.

Sirius seemed to hear it too. He didn't turn to look, but he swore vehemently.


End file.
